


On Fear and Trembling

by JaneAire



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Clarus being a huge dick, Drinking, Falling in love against your will, Gladnis, Ignis and Noctis are half brothers, Illegitimate son!Ignis, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Nudity, Soulmates, Swearing, These tags are wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneAire/pseuds/JaneAire
Summary: The Kings of old chose Noctis as their chosen king.It would appear that whatever voodoo magic Gladio's ancestors operated under didn't give a shit about wedlocks and monogamy and pure, blue Lucian blood; They chose Ignis.Yeah, Gladio was fucked.





	On Fear and Trembling

**Author's Note:**

> I understand full well that there's no in game reference of the Amicitia bloodline actually being magically drawn to the Caelum bloodline, BUT I'm a huge sucker for the knight being unconditionally in love with his charge and never being able to have them a la Don Quixote + the Isaac vs Ishmael debate, so I wrote a little illegitimate son Ignis au. Hope you enjoy ♡

Amicitia's are born to protect the firstborn male heir of the Lucian line: the future king. Where they go, the shield shall go, willing and able to shield him from harm, at the cost of their own life if necessary. 

Amicitia's bond with their King, something in their bloodline drawn in, a primal instinct to protect them at all costs, be it a simple, small problem or something larger--say a post-apocalyptic world plunged into darkness at the hands of a antisocial megalomaniac, for that matter. 

The Kings of old chose Noctis as their chosen king, born to King Regis and his Queen, healthy and happy and every bit a Lucian as expected. 

It would appear that whatever voodoo magic Gladio's ancestors operated under didn't give a shit about wedlocks and monogamy and pure, blue Lucian blood; They chose Ignis.

Yeah, Gladio was fucked. 

\----

The rumors started before he even arrived at the palace. Looking back on it, Gladio couldn't remember if he heard them or not, if he even believed it; he couldn't remember not knowing, though, not hearing it around them constantly. 

He remembered that first meeting, however. That first, real explosion in chest--thinking _oh, that's the little shit everyone has been talking about_ and then suddenly everything was different. Everything had changed. 

“C’mon, you gotta meet Gladio!” Noct yelped, dragging the boy forward with both hands, the two of them stumbling over cobblestones that jutted out a bit too far. “We can all play together!” 

Clarus had told him to be kind to Noctis, even if he was annoying and needy, even if he was a brat, because Noctis would be King and maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but someday, something magical would kick alive in Gladio's veins and Noct would be the reason Gladio woke up in the morning. 

Some shit like that, anyway. Gladio hadn't believed him--and he shouldn't have, because it never came. 

Ignis, though? Gladio never needed to ask if the rumors were true. 

“You must be Gladiolus,” the boy said, his Tenbrae accent as thick as the gel holding his hair back. Everything about him was stiff, proper, the way they kept training Gladio to be--Gladio wanted to hate him immediately. The boy held out a polite, tanned hand, freckled on the back from the sun. 

“His Highness has told me all about you; he's quite fond you. I'm Ignis,” he seemed to paused, taking the moment took look at a loss, before recovering with a smile that had a hole where his front teeth ought to be. “Ignis Scientia.”

Maybe Gladio hadn't known then--maybe not quite yet. He remembered shaking his hand, introducing himself, before an adult ran by the collect the younger two, ushering them out to the garden for a tutoring lesson. 

Looking back on it, Gladio should've known. 

They were keeping them apart on purpose. 

Everyone knew. 

\----

By the time Gladio was every bit seventeen, graduated early from his classes and training cadets on the daily, Ignis became something that was only talked about in passing. They exchanged polite nods when they shift changed out for Noctis, Ignis usually not bothering to give Gladio the time of day, his nose buried in a manilla folder. 

Every once in awhile in the locker room he'd catch wind of a conversation from the younger glaives muttering about him in the shower, telling some unfortunate run in story, as if the straight laced advisor were a ghost. 

“--split his coffee and the _look_ he gave me, dude, I thought he was gonna write me up!” 

“The dude freaks everyone out. I'm not sure how the prince stands him. He's got a fucking branch up his ass.” 

He studiously tried to ignore the conversations--but every time his ears kept trained on the noises, taking in every word. 

“--heard the rumors, haven't you? He's not even from Insomnia--”

“Really?” 

“That's not even the crazy part. They say the only reason they sent for him was because his mom was some hooker from Tenebrae, and that King Regis--” 

“No!” 

“Yes! Dude, I swear--” 

“I bet Gladiolus knows!”

Gladio groaned, leaning his head against the cool tile in the community shower, waiting impatiently for someone to yank open his curtain and hound him. He shut off the spray, wrapping a towel around his waist.   
Doubtless, the glaives were waiting outside the stall, wide eyed and too naked for Gladio to deal with. 

“Is it true?” one of the girls asked, tugging up her towel with red cheeks. Gladio made his way to his locker without giving her a glance. 

“Is what true?” he growled with more force than necessary. 

“C’mon, dude,” one of the boys called, immediately crawling under Gladio's skin in an uncomfortable way. Gladio was known to be a pretty laid back guy as compared to the other trainers at the citadel, but a certain level of respect needed to be maintained. 

“Is Scientia the royal bastard or isn't he?” 

Gladio's locker shut with too much force, and he was horrified to see the flimsy metal of the catch had twisted in his haste, leaving the door caught halfway shut as he tugged up his sweatpants. He was breathing hard by the time he rounded the corner, the teenage glaives already looking pale, half of them darting out the door. 

“If the Marshall heard you say shit like that, you'd be looking for another job,” Gladio snarled. “Watch your fucking mouth. You're lucky I'm not gonna write you up for that; everyone is running laps tomorrow.”

The girl was crying, and the two boys didn't look far behind. Gladio stomped straight back into the training room, stealing a broadsword from the rack and beginning to mutilate the nearest dummy. 

They weren't friends. It shouldn't work him up. Scientia was just some scrawny foreign kid with a face full of acne, it shouldn't make a difference, he shouldn't care. 

He did. 

\----

It didn't matter that he only saw Ignis a few times a day in passing, that they didn't speak; he began to materialize in his dreams. Not too long after Gladio turned sixteen, he materialized in the training rooms. 

Gladio had to constantly to hound to glaives to get them to stop fucking staring and finish their laps as the Marshall handed Scientia, scrawny as a lamppost and covered in acne, a wooden dummy sword, the sharp and coordinated clacks reverberating around in his skull. He had to turn his back in order not to stare. 

They didn't talk in the locker room. Ignis didn't even acknowledge him there. Something about the situation was just too weird, too familiar. They weren't friends. 

Ignis came to Gladio just after his sixteenth birthday. Noctis hadn't stopped talking about it, how excited he'd been that Ignis was so _old_ ; Gladio thought about buying him something, before realizing it'd just be fucking weird. 

“Long time, no see,” he'd called amicably with a grin as he watched Ignis approach, bare feet padding against the blue mats of the training room. Gladio was painfully aware that he was sweaty, probably smelly without the aid of cologne; it was late, the sun had gone down hours ago, and the room was empty of any moonlighting glaives or guards. Just the two of them. 

Ignis had grown over the course of a year, which Gladio decided was fair after the ass reaming puberty had given the kid. His green eyes were as bright as his smile was shy, bangs falling in his face as he strolled over to Gladio, nodding politely. He'd finally stopped wearing his hair in that gelled up fuckboy hairstyle, and his skin wasn't nearly as blemished as it was years ago. 

The greatest change had been his physique; Cor had let slip that Ignis begun training last year to make himself a better equipped crownsguard member, for Noct's sake. Gladio couldn't imagine running his life around that little brat the same way Ignis did.   
Still, Ignis didn't look the least bit exhausted as he smiled politely, despite the fact he'd just finished his university studies early that month and had become a full time council member, in addition to being the princeling’s nursemaid. He didn't look tired at all. 

He looked _good._

Ignis must've spent every spare moment he'd had in the gym for the past year, because what had once been pale skin stretched over thin bones had become lithe muscles, the sinewy details visible with every movement he made. Broad shouldered and thin hipped, he was every bit still as lithe, but in a graceful way. He looked confident. 

Gladio's hands itched, rubbing his sweaty palms across the thighs of his sweatpants to distract himself from the sensation.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis nodded. His voice had dropped, settled, into a soothing tenor so unlike the high pitched scratch he'd had at fourteen, accent still just as thick as it had been that first day they'd met. “It's good to see you.” 

“How's the kid?” 

Ignis made a face, like the informality displeased him, but kept the thin-lipped smile on his face. “His Highness is well.” 

He paused, to lick his lips, his green eyes trained on the floor and his artful eyebrows furrowed low. “I've actually come to speak with you on a personal matter, if that's quite alright.” 

Gladio's heart absolutely should not feel like it's about to beat out of his chest. He hasn't paid Ignis Scientia any mind in years. He couldn't give a shit. 

Fuck, the guy just made him nervous. 

“Uh,” he growled, mouth dry. “Sure. What's up?” 

Ignis was jingling his hands around in the pockets of his training sweats, despite the fact his shoulders were thrown back--and let it be made clear the advisor had definitely been keeping up with his push ups, because those were absolutely pecs beneath his thin Citadel issue tank top--and, for a moment, Gladio wondered if it might've been _Ignis_ who was nervous. 

He wasn't sure he'd ever thought of Ignis as a person before. 

Don't get him wrong, he knows he's just a guy. There was something just so super human and robotic about him, not only in terms of his productivity, but you've gotta also speak to the guy's selflessness. Everything he does is for that kid. 

Someone who lives everyday with all those rumors? It's better to pretend they don't have feelings, because there's no way to pretend they don't hear. 

“The Marshall has told you of my training attempts, yes?” 

Gladio nodded, heat coming to his ears. “Uh, yeah. Said you wanted to try to pass a Glaive exam. You know that's crazy, right?” 

Ignis shrugged, keeping his eyes training somewhere near Gladio's clavicle, like he was too tired to crane his head all the way up to make eye contact. 

“I'd prefer to be more thorough than not. A well rounded resume is not a bad thing to have when it comes to tending to his Highness.” 

“Right,” Gladio said. “I, uh, admire the guts and all. Just don't kill yourself tryin’, yeah? Noct's gotta have an advisor with all his senses about him.” 

Ignis snorted, glancing to the side as if to hide his laugh. His bangs flipped when he did, giving Gladio a glimpse of a beauty mark on his temple. 

“I'm sure no one has ever lost a limb sparring with a training dummy.” 

Gladio couldn't help but grin back. “No, but I've heard stories about an overenthusiastic crownsguard who blew his thumb off tryna do a fancy gun trick.” 

“Well,” Ignis grinned, ducking his chin to his chest again. “We mustn't believe everything we hear, hmm?” 

It was a loaded question, and Gladio doesn't miss it for a second. “Yeah.” 

He took a moment to school his features back, and it's sort of terrifying to watch how Ignis can drain all of his sincere emotions into a reserve somewhere while replacing a mask of indifference on his face, but Gladio doesn't comment on it. 

“You were tellin’ me about your training?” Gladio prompted before Ignis can look at him again. 

“Indeed,” he said, taking another moment to adjust his glasses on the slim bridge of his nose, sweeping his too long bangs to the side of his temple again. “I was hoping this wouldn't be too forward to ask--and feel free to tell me to shove off, as I'm sure you've got your own duties to attend too--” 

“Spit it out, kid,” Gladio offered with a smile he hoped was kind, something he usually reserved for Iris. 

Ignis blinked, his smile wavering. “I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to take me on as a student, the same way you have with Noctis. The Marshall doesn't always have the time, understandably, to meet at the frequency I'm compelled to practice at, and I just assumed that since you and I have a common goal--” 

“And what's that?” 

Ignis didn't even take the time to look bewildered, just replied without any affect: “Protecting Noctis, of course.”

Gladio told him yes, because he couldn't say no. 

\----

The process had already metastasized before he'd even realized it had begun. His father was right, of course, about the warm feeling that curled his toes and made him spring awake in the morning, darting to his phone. It became less and less surprising to see Ignis wandering through his dreamscapes; they spend every night together, nearly. 

Ignis watched his sessions with Noctis, and, in a way, it felt wrong. This had been something he'd done with Noct, something private, a way to bond--he imagined it felt as awkward for Ignis as Gladio sometimes felt leaning against the counter in Noct's new apartment watching Ignis cook dinner. 

Somewhere along the line the two factions had merged; there wasn't a Noctis with Ignis and a Noctis with Gladio. Two sets of two had suddenly merged into the three of them. It still shocked him, sometimes, to hear someone refer to them as _Ignis and Gladiolus,_ like they're a collective. 

He was surprised how easy it was to be with Ignis. The straight laced chamberlain had feelings, which was an odd revelation. His ambition was impressive, especially in the beginning. There were many nights Gladio had shut off the lights in gym waiting on him, only to have the advisor burst through the doors, eyes burning behind his glasses and hair disheveled. 

Ignis was no stranger to late nights, it seemed. 

The more Gladio learned about Ignis, the worse the feeling became, burning in his chest until he caved, rolling over onto his phone and typing out a quick message to make sure the advisor had made it to bed. 

Ignis was kind, which was surprising, in all honesty. Of all the rumors that flew about Ignis, the bedrock was that he was simply savage, a perfect politician: civil to your face until he stabbed you in the back. Regis had always been known for a similar policy. 

Ignis had a caffeine addiction, occasionally hilarious, until Gladio had placed a set of daggers in his palms and he'd been able to see them shake. 

He hated every book Gladio had ever suggested to him, not that he had to time to actually finish them, anyway. 

_“C’mon, the ending is the best part!”_

_“Anything that opens with a heaving bosom is not going to be up my alley, Gladiolus, but appreciate your interest in my reproductive habits.”_

He didn't hold back when they sparred, and he let Gladio watch when the Glaives taught him the magic. (He'd tried and failed with that, before deciding it just wasn't for him--Ignis, however, tried and tried and tried again, and got it, because the guy didn't give up).

Gladio couldn't keep his eyes off of him in council meetings--he talked with his hands when he got excited, and his jaw clenched up when he got angry, jutting out his chin like a child. 

Both habits Regis had. 

Gladio tried too hard not to think about it. 

\----

“Hey! You did good today,” Gladio congratulated, his leather boots stomping along the stone floor as he caught up to Ignis, swerving between the older council members to do so. 

Ignis stared at Gladio's hand on his shoulder until he removed it. “I'm not so sure about that, but I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“Can't win em all, Iggy.” 

“Mm, I suppose,” he cut his eyes to the side, clearly trying to hide his smile as his gaze roamed somewhere near Gladio's chest, tracing the brass buttons on his pressed uniform. “Aren't you on duty?” 

“I'm escorting a councilman back to his chambers.” 

“Gladiolus--”

“I'm on a break, don't get your panties in a twist.”

“Waste of a break, spending your time on me,” before pausing in his stride, stepping to the side of the hall to let the crowd behind them pass. “While I'm thinking on the subject: what in blazes is growing on your face?” 

Gladio couldn't help but bark out his laughter, ducking near Ignis to escape the gazes of some disapproving councilmen. “It's a beard, or the start of one, anyway. Why, do you like it?” 

“It's distracting,” Ignis hissed, his green eyes playfully amused as they traced Gladio's jaw. “I could hardly keep from laughing every time I glanced at you.” 

“Stop glancin’ at me and you won't have a problem,” Gladio teased, leaning closer again, until he was nearly looming. 

He half expected Ignis to look unamused, step away and ignore his blatant flirting. Instead, his eyebrows furrowed low over his early autumn eyes, glancing up just a bit over Gladio's jaw, ignoring the scruff entirely, and hyperfocusing somewhere in the vicinity in Gladio's mouth.

“It's distracting,” he said again, flatly, before turning to lean his shoulder against the cool wall. People were giving the glances as they pass by, which was the sort of thing Ignis usually cared about. “You should shave it.” 

Gladio's grin was positively salacious, hanging crooked like a crescent moon across his jaw. “Admit you find it sexy and I might.” 

Ignis _rolled his eyes_ , stomping his foot in amusement, punctuated with a snort that has Gladio absolutely reeling. 

“What?” Gladio demanded. 

“Gladiolus,” Ignis said shortly, turning over his shoulder as if making to leave. He was still smiling, softly, to himself. “I have much better taste than to be interested in a man whose favorite novel is _Getting Red-hot With the Rogue._ I do have standards.” 

He left Gladio in the hallway, gaping after him.

\----

The feeling always came when he was away.

He wasn't sure if it was there when he's with Ignis, because fuck it, he's with Ignis, and what else matters more than that? But the second he's gone it's all Gladio can think about, a fog creeping up his bones and smothering his mind until the spark hits, and then suddenly it's a wildfire. 

He had to be near Ignis, had to be with Ignis, to make sure he's okay, make sure he's happy. It was more than that, too. He had to know what the advisor is doing, who he's speaking to. The thought that Ignis might be interested in someone else fuels Gladio's late night angsting until it's four am and there's no hope of sleep. Until Ignis wakes up at six and responds to the goodnight message Gladio sent at one. 

His whole being burned until it was more than an ache, it was a pain. 

Clarus was right. He'd always been right. 

It just wasn't Noct. 

Noct was good enough for Regis, good enough for Insomnia, good enough for the Kings of old; it didn't matter that Ignis was _better_ because Ignis wasn't _right._

The shield in him, that disloyal fucker, had sensed something in Ignis that was inherently Lucian despite pretty fern eyes and pale gold hair, that tanned skin and thick accent; despite the fact his brain knew he was a Scientia and not a Caelum. 

Didn't matter. Gladio chose Ignis. 

Gladio didn't even have the time to regret it. 

\----

“Goin’ out! Don't wait up.”

“Gladiolus? A word.” 

Shit. 

Gladio was half surprised his dad was even home; the announcement had been for Jared, who was surprisingly absent from the foyer. His father, however, domineered in the space before the door, blocking what would've been a hasty exit. 

“Sir?” 

“Where are you headed this evening?” 

“Citadel,” Gladio answered curtly, his eyes cut to the floor. It wasn't a lie, just wasn't exactly true. 

“You're awfully dressed up to be training this late on a Friday.” 

He shrugged. He wasn't all that dressed up: green leather jacket, his hair pulled back in his best attempt at a ponytail and some discrete, red moogle hairpins he reluctantly stole from Iris. Sure, he'd bothered to put on cologne and his boots weren't caked with mud, but it wasn't like he'd applied mascara or nothin’. 

He might've put on his lucky black cotton boxers, but sue him. He knew he had a good ass in these jeans, and a better one out of them. 

“You're going to see him, aren't you?” 

Gladio's wince was visible, painful so, and Clarus just nodded, clearly disappointed. 

“You've been spending a lot of time with the Scientia boy, I've heard.” 

“We're kinda gonna be spendin’ the rest of our lives together, Dad,” Gladio said in a way he hoped was nonchalant. “I think it's okay that we're friends.” 

Clarus’ eyes seemed to be searching for something in Gladio's face. “Mixing work and play can get dangerous.” 

“‘M not stupid.”

There was a moment of silence, the two of them staring at the floor, the both of them attempting to decipher motives from the silence. 

“Can I go?” 

“Whatever you think you're feeling right now is wrong.” 

It sent a chill down Gladio's spine. There it was. Confirmation. 

“We're just friends,” Gladio croaked. 

“You know that's not what I meant,” Clarus continued, stalking closer without facing his son. “Your priority is Noctis, until the day you die. I want you to fix this, and that's not a suggestion.” 

What's the fastest way to escape this? Every drop in Gladio's veins were screaming _Ignis, Ignis, Ignis._

“Gladiolus.” 

“Yes, sir. May I go now?” 

Clarus stepped aside, Gladio immediately stalking past, hand on the knob, before his father spoke again. 

“It's no secret, you know, once people see the two of you together. You aren't just risking yourself here. You're putting the final nail in that Scientia boy's coffin.” 

Clarus’ boots echoed around the hall as he made his way to the staircase, ending the conversation via exit. 

“He isn't like us, Gladiolus. He isn't even Lucian. He's not worthy to be King. Please remind yourself of that.” 

\----

“You made it,” Ignis grinned, shutting the door behind Gladio as the larger man slumped into his Citadel apartment, locking the latch. “I admit I got worried between the time, and then the weather being what it was--oh.” 

“Shut up a second,” Gladio whispered, slumping forward to wrap his arms around the smaller man, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Ignis went boneless, his arms trapped between them, letting his eyes slip closed regardless. 

It was an instant recharge, feeling Ignis’ warmth and smelling his aftershave, the cotton of his t-shirt soft against his cheek. 

That empty tank inside of him didn't feel so hollow, for just a moment. 

“You're affectionate tonight,” Ignis wheezed as Gladio tightened his arms around his waist, letting his cheek rest against his temple, before pulling away entirely. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, turning to make his way to the couch. Ignis, ever observant, would probably be able to deduce what was wrong just by glancing at his face. 

“No need for apologies,” Ignis smiled, nudging him with a hip. “I don't mind the contact, between friends.” 

The lights were low in his apartments, but, from the soft glow of the television, Gladio could see there was a dusting of pink across Ignis’ cheeks. There was an uncorked wine bottle on the table, one of the glasses already a bit dirtied with a claret liquid pooling near the stem. 

“You're sure you're alright?” Ignis asked again, reaching out to wrap his lithe fingers around Gladio's wrist, under the cuff of his leather jacket. He wasn't wearing his gloves tonight. Somehow, that was different. That was new.

He smiled at Ignis. “I will be. Pour me a glass, will ya?” 

\----

Ignis sat close to his side. The movie they watched was dumb, some chick flick Gladio shamelessly wanted to see, mostly just to listen to Ignis groan through the whole thing, occasionally snorting at some terrible pick up line and ducking his head into Gladio's chest to shake with laughter. 

“This is atrocious, you know,” Ignis reminded him for the millionth time. “Absolute drivel, and you fill your head with it every day.” 

“Hey,” Gladio growled in mock seriousness, setting his wine glass back down on the table with a shaky hand. “I'll have you know this is based off the love story between the Noct's great-great-great-something grandfather and one of my equally great aunts. They had to decapitate her for treason, all because Noct's grandpapi got his dick wet with her. This, Ignis Scientia, is history.” 

“Drivel,” Ignis said again. “I've seen more breasts in the last thirty minutes than I ever need to see again for the rest of my life.” 

Gladio snorted. “Typical. The guy's kinda hot,though.” 

Ignis tilted his head, squinting slightly, his now-limp hair brushing Gladio's throat. “Hmm. Maybe. He's not quite my type.” 

“Well, I think he's good looking.” 

Ignis snorted. “Clearly you and your ancestors have terrible tastes.” 

Gladio smiled, shrugging, realizing too late at some point he'd slung his arm around Ignis’ shoulders. “Hey, don't blame her. She can't help it.” 

“That so?” Ignis asked, his eyes still trained on the screen. At some point, his lithe hand had ended up on Gladio's knee, shoulder leaning against his chest. Warm, warm, warm. 

“Mm,” Gladio agreed. “Funny king magic and all that jazz to keep us loyal. Amicitia's always fall in love with their charges.” 

Gladio's brain was too fuzzy with the wine to even realize what he'd said was less than okay; it took him several beats of Ignis’ silence to shock him into panic. 

“That so?” Ignis said, voice a bit hoarse, before forcing a laugh. “I suppose I should keep a closer eye on you and Noct, then?” 

Gladio made an exaggerated gagging sound, rolling his head until he felt his temple lull against the crown of Ignis’ head, the boy's silky hair soft against his skin. “As if. Just looking at that twerp makes my balls crawl back up into my body.” 

“Mm,” Ignis conceded. “Good to know, then.” 

\----

It was hours later, the film near completion, when the two of them had been stewing in what must be the loudest silence that Gladio's ever had to endure, that it happens. It didn't matter that Ignis was beside him, shoulder to shoulder and close enough that he can breathe in the scent of his Irish Spring deodorant, the flame had returned to his veins, lighting his body on fire in every place Ignis touched him. 

Every ten minutes, like clockwork, Ignis would shift, and his hand would trail a little further up Gladio's leg, his grip would adjust a little tighter, a little bolder. Gladio had long since given up paying attention to the plot of the film. He watched Ignis from the corner of his eye, seeing the advisor unabashedly keep his eyes on him, rocketing another shock of electricity up Gladio's back. 

The credits had been playing for nearly five minutes when Ignis surged up to kiss him, one hand weaving in the stray undergrowth falling out from Gladio's ponytail, the other keeping a balance on his thigh. 

Gladio was careful not to grab him--and, Six, it's so hard, his hands are shaking because of it--careful not to scare him away and shatter whatever illusion he'd stumbled into. 

He bumbled a little, thumb rubbing back and forth across his jaw, chaffing his cheeks with the stubble. His lips closed again and again over Gladio's, eager, just as soft as they looked, puckering a bit too roughly but everything felt so warm and airy Gladio couldn't bring himself to care. 

“Is this alright?” Ignis asked, pulling back. His hair was falling in his green eyes, his glasses slightly askew, but he didn't remove his hand from where it's playing in his hair. Gladio trembled. 

“Yeah. Course,” he gasped, leaning forward in an attempt to initiate the next kiss. Ignis’ breath is warm across his cheeks, creating a powder keg in the space between them. 

“Gladio,” Ignis murmured, thumb still tracing circles, even as he readjusted himself on his knees. 

“Mm?” 

“You aren't touching me.” 

Fuck. 

Gladio let his open palms reach out, tentatively around, touching the backs of Ignis’ ribs with a light hand, running his fingertips over the smooth, pressed cotton of his t-shirt. He was shaking, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

The fire in his veins was insatiable now. 

“That okay?” he asked, voice cracking and his mouth dry. 

Ignis had begun to look unsure somewhere along the line, even leaning on his knees above Gladio as the taller man sunk deeper down onto the couch. 

“You aren't obligated to kiss me, you know.” 

Gladio grinned, fingers tripping over the fronts of his ribs, causing Ignis to fold over with laughter, swatting Gladio's hands away. 

“That tickled! Stop that!” 

“Maybe I wanna kiss you,” Gladio breathed, sliding his hands up the backs of Ignis’ thighs until he was straddling his lap, hair falling into his eyes again. “Ever think of that?”

Ignis shrugged, unable to bite back a smile now, nodding his head non-committally to the side. “It may have crossed my mind.” 

“You're an ass,” Gladio beamed, letting his hands raise up to cup his jaw, thumbs tracing across his lips. 

“You're talking too much.”

His dreams about Ignis had never been like this, with him stretched above Gladio, hands resting on his chest and their mouths working slowly against one another until it felt as thought Gladio's heart might beat out of his chest, until they were both giggling messes with Ignis ducking his head against Gladio's chest, until they were nearly asleep from the wine and the excitement of it all. 

Ignis had his cheek laid against Gladio's chest, listening to his heart while the shield toyed with his hair. Gladio released a shaky breath, and caved first. 

“I'm so in love with you.” 

Ignis couldn't help the soft sigh that followed, nuzzling up against Gladio's hand in a way he'd probably find embarrassing tomorrow. 

“I know.”

Gladio groaned. “Even now, you're an asshole. Unbelievable.” 

“But you love me,” Ignis murmured, turning quickly to press a kiss against Gladio's knuckles, before dropping his head again, lethargically against Gladio's chest. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I do.”

\----

Ignis never did know if the rumors were true. He'd never been under the assumption it would matter one way or the other. He loved Noctis, brother or not, and swore an oath to protect him. 

Now, of course, staring down at the ring on his finger, he understood that maybe a bit of chamber room gossip wasn't so useless after all; old kings had opinions about everything. 

They'd give their blessing to a son of Lucis. 

Yeah, he should be so lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't turn out quite like I expected, but I didn't want it to get super dark or be ridiculously long, and I wanted to get it out before episode Ignis, so :/
> 
> Thanks so much for staying till the end! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and I hope you have a wonderful day ♡♡♡


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